


Saudade

by NebulaViburnum



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Battle Couple, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Multi, Pansexual Character, Psychological Drama, Psychological Trauma, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-02 13:31:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10945512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NebulaViburnum/pseuds/NebulaViburnum
Summary: Marta and Blake getting to know one another. Marta and Blake running from Murkoff and Marta coming into terms with who she is, what she is, what she was. Is the demon Loutermilch away? Will Blake have to fight him? Does Marta have a similar demon like that? Budding friendship and an understanding that could lead to love. [a short story between two seemingly different people coming together.Can be taken as a companion to my other story "Temple Gate" and loosely connected to "Shadow Engines"]





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

**Past and Present**

~

 **Saudade:** (in Portuguese folk culture) a deep emotional state of melancholic longing for a person or thing that is absent.

 

**~**

 

After the red glaze of the shock of crucifixion, there was a blank space.

 

No voices.

 

Thank God.

 

It felt like forever had stopped. His heart burst wide open like a dam in his throat.

 

The bile slipping near the edge.

 

A tug of war between vomit and saliva.

 

He dropped down — and out of his bed.

 

His heart was pounding.

 

It was only a dream that oozed back reality.

 

Nostalgia.

 

Nightmare Nostalgia.

 

There was no way this was a pining. Or, a penance.

 

It simple was.

 

That hurt. It wasn’t random though. The purpose had been found. Highlighted.

 

Anna Lee was living a nightmare and they had faced it. She had survived only to have someone strangle her. He was certain now someone did. To hide their own shame. Their own secrets. No, not shame. Their defilement. Their desecration. Their blasphemy. All to be tucked like laundry.

 

Blake could hear no sleeping. No breath of sleep. Curious, he walked outside only to scream.

 

There, propped against the small kitchen and dining space was her.

 

Marta.

 

She looked alarmed as well. Though, she did not seem to reach for her pickaxe.

 

Her movements were sluggish. She was suffering from insomnia. The loud noises of the phones, wires, televisions, cars, laptops, desktops — it was only a small town. This wasn’t even the bulk of noises and noise pollution. Yet, everything disoriented here. Having not ridden in a car properly she was still suffering from motion sickness. The feeling her body was running too far ahead of her. But, she seemed to be able to stomach the slower transport of buses and so she may get used to the faster automobiles. Gradually.

 

In the cheap motel address book, he had penned her in as Marta Langermann.

 

She saw it and wasn’t too pleased but lying was better than an admission right about now.

 

She had not known what her original last name was. Wondered if she knew. Was she related to Knoth? There was that question that burned him. Made him uncomfortable. After all, he remembered reading that incest was permissible in The Testament of New Ezekiel. This troubled him a lot. It was obviously a cult who messed around with religion; there were even some non-Abrahamic customs and metaphors in those gospels. What he realized was that it was as if the towers, like some private server, transmitted a codex prepared for them to be insane.

 

The word ‘transmission’ gnawed on him.

 

It connoted also the presence of STDs. Syphilis and Gonorrhoea for the incest, the non-protected trysts that could have happened with and without Knoth and also the lack of proper sanitation. There is nothing divine in that sickness only one could divine the mortality of their own bodies. Pestilence as penance: that’s how they wanted to serve it, wrap it up, sell it. Murkoff wrapped it up today: did not mummify it, made it like an undead to do its bidding. He realised that logo was Murkoff. It took some time. As he made his way to this small town in Arizona, so far away but maybe not enough from the violence of Temple Gate, he procured a laptop and did some research. The man who gave him the laptop probably stole it and was just happy he could give it; looked like some old man who was not completely sane. Though, he was a one to talk, he lacked much sanity himself.

 

The child hadn’t been real.

 

Marta, punctured abdomen and all, came at him and screamed at where the child was and he realised he was carrying putrid flesh for two days.

 

One moment, he was praying with Jessica. The next he realised this tall woman was still chasing him

 

She had questions.

 

He had no answers.

 

She was furious.

 

So was he.

 

But she managed not to kill him. And, he took that was a sign.

 

He didn’t know what to think of her. Especially, seeing her now. Wearing a shirt too small. Male boxers. He had not seen her dress in anything aside her threadbare dress before. She had initially refused to take off all her garments. He told her she smelled and the receptionist looked at them as though they were blasphemous with their pungent odours. But, Marta had refused to wear anything. Frankly, Blake didn’t know if there were stores in the town that accommodated her size. Now, she was wearing a large tee which was white in colour and her boxers were grey. Marta had taken his underwear. She didn’t seem interested in wearing the box of coloured and polka dotted panties he brought. They were there so he got them. She must have thought they all were vulgar. He couldn’t really blame her. But he wished he would have known sooner. They were giving free clothes nearby some church and also clean underclothes so he got some articles of clothing. He wasn’t an expert in female clothes as he knew everyone dressed differently. But he got pants and semi long skirts. The pants were actually leggings which were the largest size though he was sure they would be three quarter ensembles for Marta, so would the skirts Most of the clothes were modest. Marta did not wish to wear pants. Perhaps, and orthodox notion of it being “male wear.” However, she did wear his underpants so who knows if she may warm up to them. He had bought basics. He had pretty much thrown all his blood and grime clothes in the dumpster out back a diner. He didn’t ever wanna see them again. Marta has kept her clothes. To her, her clothes carried a different meaning than his.

 

“You can’t sleep? You, spiller of foul seed.”

 

“Fuck. Don’t call me that.”

 

“Your tongue is as foul as your seed.”

 

Blake looked away in anger, “I am not a spiller of foul seed. You are being a jerk.”

 

He didn’t know what else to call her. Something told him the word ‘bastard’ could actually have a bad history for Marta. At the same time, ‘bitch’ seemed kinda, cruel. Yeah, cruel. Because something told him she was used to somewhat knowing she was called that — behind her back. In that misogynistic hellhole, he wondered what was new than that. The very instance they caught Lynn they called her a whore. The funny thing was Lynn and he were the only people they had sex with each other. From a young age, they were pretty monogamous. Even if they weren’t the concept of “whore” had nothing to do with monogamy. Blake knew this earlier on when he saw Jessica die. Then he recognised Loutermilch’s voice in those recordings: that fucker already sexualised and made Jessica someone who was like a whore and she was only ten years old. It was obvious whore was just a convenient word cisgender males usually used to hide other insecurities. Though, a whore was also a man. That point was less taken up: after all promiscuity was nothing to do with gender or sex but habits. It is hypocritical to call a woman a whore and not a man.

 

“A jerk?” Marta seemed quizzical. Her face was directed towards him. Then amused, “I seldom heard that word.” Then she smiled, “In our lexicon, we hardly used that word. It was an ‘outside’ word. Mostly, merited as one. Most people stopped using ‘outside’ words in the mid-80s and early 90s. It soon became relics to a present we were away from. We had our own words to highlight the annoying. And, it suited us and our locale greatly.”

 

Blake didn’t completely forget that. Laird was pretty proficient in swearing. Though ‘whore’ was still a widely-used word in the community of Temple Gate he heard the words ‘dog’s cunt’ and some others which were more colloquial forms of swearing than generic ones. It did seem appropriate to the sort of place they lived in. Blake almost groaned and made a face. He wondered if a linguist or anthropologist would have loved to have studied Temple Gate due to its different lexicon’s and community ties. Their incestuous relationships. At one point, he wondered if Ethan had some romantic feelings for his daughter; though, he doubted that could completely be the case. If there were feelings it seems very familial and also bonds of friendship. He wondered if Anna Lee was the only person Ethan could trust. And, her innocence and kindness made him happy. It may have been painful for Ethan calling himself an “Unborn.” After all, he had come all this way, or perhaps was born in the town, believing it all to be sacred, proper and good. Now, he was seeing mutilating cattle. Starving, sick with disease, paucity of resources, infanticide and he was wondering what if Hell had come down instead salvation.

 

“Yeah, well excuse me, but ‘dog’s cunt’ sounds kinda foreign to my ears.” Blake almost grimaced. There was a scowl on his face. Marta looked attentive now.

 

“Laird used to say that a lot.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Laird, that little cunt used to say that…” Marta looked at him, blank face, though Blake could have sworn he heard gritting of teeth, “I came across and Nick’s body. Did you kill him?”

 

“Hmph, even if I did, what are you gonna do?” Blake knew he was playing with fire. Marta was agile and had such deft coordination that it made him nervous and scared.

 

“That doesn’t answer if you did.” Marta chuckled, “Do you really think I care about anything? I am stronger than most people here. Killing you, it’s easy. Killing them. Well, I can take out a mob. There is no reason for you to be so arrogant in your own abilities spider-eyed lamb. I then can boast a greater turn of it.”

 

“Can you stop calling me your nonsensical, gospel names!” Blake looked annoyed, “I have a name. I told you. It’s fucking Blake. I mean I don’t call you ‘killer of spider-eyed cows’, do I? Or, ‘maker of martyred cows’? Like what is a spider-eyed lamb anyway? Can even a lamb have a spider in its eye? Spiders are actually arachnids and I like them. Stop with the spider hate.”

 

Marta blinked, after a moment, “You sound ridiculous.”

 

“Look who’s talking.” Blake shook his head.

 

“Blake.”

 

“What?”

 

“I called you your name. Now, call me mine.”

 

Blake blinked, “Marta.”

 

“Yes. I am not a spider-eyed cow though.” For a moment, Blake had to look at her. Marta was actually chuckling.

 

Blake laughed a bit. It felt warm though he still was nervous. “I didn’t kill Laird or Nick…” Blake confessed, “They were killed by the Scalled. It seems most of them started hating him and his mistreatment of them. It’s not all his fault though. Knoth said he could bully them into submission so he was just following orders. I know he is still culpable though. Laird seemed generally condescending of anyone; like, he threatened Nick as well and that guy used to carry him around.”

 

“You say that Laird hurt you.” Marta looked at him, “How? Beating you?”

 

“I think that would have been better than crucifying me and thinking I was the Scalled Messiah and all.” Blake rubbed his head.

 

“He thought you were the messiah?” Marta looked like Blake had blasphemed.

 

“It kinda confused me, because if you guys thought I was the bringer of the Antichrist and Lynn as well, I mean the Heretics treated Lynn as a holy mother and me as a holy father and the Scalled treated me as a messiah. Though, I am afraid it all got pretty confusing. Weren’t the Scalled once also part of you guys in Temple Gate?”

 

“The Scalled had limited contact with the main town. Also, by any chance did you fall down or something? Like from the sky? Were there locusts?” Marta questioned.

 

“Oh yeah,” Blake remembered reading about it in a gospel of Knoth, “I read about it and Laird spoke it. Something about a messiah will come down on locust wings.” Then with a slant of the brow, “But…you are sure I am the antichrist father, right? But, you are questioning what has…”

 

“The apocalypse didn’t come. And if it did, it didn’t take me with it. At first, I thought it was because my Faith was imperfect. But till the end, my Faith had become unwavering. I chased you. I tried to kill you and your yokemate. I don’t think I could have done anything else. In a way, people may say, you can’t have more perfect Faith than that. Though, was it really perfect? Chasing after you and your yokemate? Killing all those innocent babes? Killing all the questioning people? The Heretics? Well, the Heretics were also violent and filled with pretty intense passions. But, what about the others? I was not perfect. But, I do not see how my imperfections would exclude me from the apocalypse. Is this purgatory, then? I was not perfect enough for the apocalypse.? That is when I decided to go back to questioning. And, you had no babe. You had nothing. And, now you are also left with another nothing. Me, I am new to this nothing. May take time to get used to. I don’t think God wanted me to kill. Knoth did. It probably was easy because I was so used to killing. It was easy getting me to kill others. But, I never felt right about it. I was always raw. Even about the Scalled I worried. Ethan’s wife was not bad. I think I never understood why she had a physical sickness of the soul. Perhaps, it was syphilis and gonorrhoea. I saw Papa Knoth take the needle of the penicillin. I should have known he had it. Maybe, I did. But, if I said it. If I said it, would it believed? Everyone thought of me as a strange yet reliable monster. The witness, judge and executioner. What more or other could I be than that? I never known. Perhaps, I never will know.”

 

“You shouldn’t have killed Ethan.” Despite feeling moved by Marta’s confessions he did not know, but a wound burned deep, “He was a good man you know. He sheltered me, a stranger, and I think what he did was really Christian.” Marta stayed quiet, she seemed guilty or filled with regret, “But…I am really sorry…” He suddenly sat down on the floor as well, “I am not saying you didn’t have it bad. It just hurt me. Seeing you kill him. It was…brutal and I feel bad because he died protecting me…”

 

Marta looked at Blake. The tears in his eyes. She had cried when she had killed her first man when she was about seventeen. See his windpipe burst out like a tractor pipe gone wrong, gushing blood like a damn broken, spraying her face as though it was just a busted pipe of water meant to irrigate the fields. It irrigated her: her purpose sealed. She had started crying. Wailing. Knoth had called her hysterical. Told her to purge her womanly heart for she was to be the sentinel. Told her God has blessed her by not giving her a woman’s ‘natural’ meekness and weakness, and she could be justice incarnate. That she could be the eye that he lost. That she was the eye that he lost.

 

Knoth’s eye.

 

The villagers had started calling her that. As though it was almost sacred as a prayer. Knoth had told her rinse her face as she wailed. Only then would he touch her, console her. Said there was no reason to get a pig’s blood, blasphemous blood on him — however, he had no problem letting her do her dirty work. It was not blasphemous blood that arrested his senses; Marta wanted to ignore that even the blood of a woman, pious, virtuous, even her blood while she got hurt, disgusted Knoth. Knoth felt each and every blood to be inferior aside his own. She had seen it in his eyes. She knew he had it. But, she had ignored it. Why?

 

Because she was lonely.

 

No one considered her human. She was Knoth’s eye and that was what they thought of her. As an inhuman, diseased eye, a part of the man thought to be prophet. She doubted his claims of prophet hood. It did not seem like the trails of Abraham or Jesus. Not them, peace be upon them, she prayed as she thought. She didn’t want to believe he was wrong. For if he was wrong her entire life was wrong — a lie, more scalled than the skin of the Scalled. It hurt her to know that could be the case. What was she to do?

 

Blake did not see her approach him. He had no idea she would approach him. That blasted individual knew how to move so fast that it was scary and supernatural as her height — well, no wonder her gait was like his brisk run. She was athletic, able to control her breathing, coordinate her movements in the dark. He wasn’t expecting her to come up.

 

Soon, she was in front of him. He half expected her to scream at him — the cry that pierced the air and his lungs. The very first time he heard it, it reminded him of the folklore of the banshees and he was compelled to run even without understanding and looking at what was behind him. His every fibre screamed danger and that was enough to make his adrenalin scream pushing his muscles to run faster than he could have ever known he could move.

 

It was comic.

 

To him it felt somewhat funny. Though, it was a stereotype of height that Marta, being female, was breaking.

 

His face close to her breasts and collarbones. She was so much taller than him that half her left, just from foot to knee, could circumscribe his entire foot to thigh ratio. And her legs were lean and muscular, almost skeletal coloured, white like alabaster but also ivory. Muscled and well calved. He noticed her dress was a weird assortment of rags bunch up by threads. He had a feeling she had to be her own seamstress and even so the clothes did not necessarily fit her. She may have tailored her clothes to be a bit short, though modest. After all, the running and chasing she did.

 

Her hands were on him.

 

His first instinct was almost to give her jab at her hand, but would that work? He was hoping it would to deter her and it might. We all could be pretty strong. He wondered if he was going to be strangled or something.

 

What was to embrace of death became an embrace.

 

It was so strange. She was strange too. She held him loosely but was fidgeting. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do as though she had a gap in her brain on actual intimacy. Blake didn’t know if he should feel sorry or scared. She caressed his shoulder, and his head. He wasn’t allowing her to touch him too much and she seemed not to want to. This feel like some strange comedy. This woman tried to kill him. Blake remembered successfully dodging the pickaxe as it was aimed for his manhood: God, she was trying to castrate him too! And, when he realised that he had screamed and ran — as though everything about him was getting desecrated. This woman was now holding him and caressing him. Why? He did not understand.

 

“You shouldn’t cry for Ethan.”

 

“Why not?” Blake almost rasped it out, he had held her arms strongly, though he realised she could probably easily get past him if she wanted.

 

“Because, I killed him.” Marta spoke easily, slowly touching his hands away, “I should grieve for him. Not you.” Then she looked away, as if thinking, though Blake noticed her hands were still on his, “He was probably a good man. Saved you and his daughter. I challenged him that he was a sinner for denying Knoth his daughter. However, I think I was angry that he had courage for doing something I couldn’t do. Denying Knoth things. I killed also out of my own selfishness. I knew I probably should have let him be. If he claimed he didn’t know where you were I should have believed him. Hell, I could have stayed until you came out and then killed him. But, I didn’t. I was angry at him. I was jealous of his Anna Lee. I was jealous that Knoth had desired her and her father loved her as a father. That she could escaped. That someone loved her enough to help her escape.” Marta was trembling, Blake saw and he instinctively held her, realising a bit later he had done the same for Lynn, during times of stress, even when he had asked where were they going, he had touched her as a nod, an affirmation, that he would always be by her side, the analogue made him shake a bit too, “I was jealous that Anna Lee was tall. Some say she would have been tall as me. She was fifteen but taller than many men. Unlike me, however, she was beautiful. She had what people of the land wanted. Golden skin, not cream white but butter churned. Her hair not night like mine but day. Her mother had her hair too but not her face. Pink lips and blue eyes. Darker than mine. But who am I to rival? I am a crone. And she is a youth. People said she may even take my place one day. Papa started liking her and I knew that she was the new and I was the old. I saw it that way and it enraged me and scared me. I didn’t know what to feel. I killed Ethan out of anger and frustration. Also, her faith seemed perfect. That Anna Lee’s. I think she would have readily died if it meant pleasing our testament of new Ezekiel. But, I couldn’t do that. And, I always wondered if my unwillingness was the reason no one would take me as their yokemate. Not even Papa. Or, was it because I looked ugly and deformed? As a woman surpassing the height of the men around me made them see me amiss in my youth. I always felt like a monster. And…my rage got the better of me.”

 

Blake didn’t feel pity for her. He felt, sadness. He saw in her something like Jessica felt. Even Lynn. But what he saw as well, not expected to see, was also himself. His own anger, rage, frustration, helplessness. And, he should have known that is why she had so relentlessly pursued him.

 

There were so much the same.

 

If the places were reversed he had no doubt now that he would probably be the enforcer. And, this both scared him and also made him sad. He remembered how Marta didn’t seem to like the killing but Knoth always told her otherwise. That killing was her duty, her solemn mission and that it would be her chosen path to salvation. Marta was obviously strong and skilled. But, this was her too. Kind and gentle. It seemed like she was so many things at once. It was kind of fascinating when you saw so many sides to people. It made you realise how complex humans could be. Even when Marta had shown reluctance to kill she thought she should or she had to, to appease Knoth, her only friend. Sometimes, he wondered if Jessica felt like this too. Pleasing both him and Lynn to hold them close as her father was a complete asshole. Then that Loutermilch had to always go after her and trivialise her; just like Knoth did to Marta. Just like Loutermilch also did to him.

 

This was something uncanny but it didn’t seem unholy. Blake chuckled inside when he felt that Val would have probably talked like that. Remembering reading those enigmatic diary entries. He found them in random houses. Cast out. Cast throughout as if exiled feelings. Flotsam in the sea of blood. Messages in bottles. An alternate gospel to be read. Blake now wondered if the houses he found those journal entries in were people dissecting what Val had wrote to better understand these apostates, as he remembered seeing hooded executioners, some already committing suicide before the “end of days”, or were they the homes of Heretics in training? It could have been both. Some of those houses already had strange inner decorations. The Heretics used the dead, tastelessly also human carrion, as furniture. Blake wondered what sort of dungeon of horrors were these people attempting to imitate. Then again, The Testament of New Ezekiel had a weird mutilated body of Christ, that looked like half in transformation, almost beast-like (with the ribs jutting out as though one of them was becoming a female breast), wearing the bull’s skull and pinned with turning wheels. He wondered if some of the old cultists, who had joined Knoth when he first became their leader, questioned this imagery. Or, did some of them like it as they felt something raw in them was being acknowledged? Their hurt? Their pain? Surely, one of them may have questioned and got bludgeoned for pointing out that Christ looks more mutilated than resurrected in that symbolism.

 

He wondered what Marta thought of this mutilated image of Christ. While in his mind, when he was roaming St. Sybil, he saw the image of crucifixion. The standard image, though his memories had splashed them in blood. Or, rather what the weird signal was shouting at him. One time the crucified portrait was coated in blood — it was a sacrilege that made him realise that something wrong was happening to him as well which could rival. What would Marta have thought of St Sybil? Would she have cleaved the tongue of the Loutermilch demon and wrap his tongue around his own entrails? Something made him feel safe about having Marta around in his memory. He shivered thinking how the experiences were so real. Even when he viewed them on his camera they were there. Only…it was only when he recorded something that he saw static and heard the voice of Loutermilch talking crap about Jessica and how obsessive he was of her and of children in general. What would Marta think of Loutermilch? Would she think that he was tricky? Would she even compare him to Val? As someone who betrayed his station? Val was once chief deacon and also cared for kids. It didn’t seem out of the loop. Though, he felt Val and Knoth were both manipulated by the signals.

 

If there was someone evil around. It was Loutermilch. Loutermilch was the one who betrayed everything he stood for. Even God. After all, he thanked God for giving him life and talents. What good were any of those talents when he actually decided to try to assault Jessica Gray? What happened to his thankfulness when he half-caressed Jessica hoping to have sex with her? Blake almost cried thinking how he was slowly walking home after Loutermilch was telling him to leave. His feet were dragging. He felt something was wrong. Loutermilch had been extra mean to Jessica at times but why did he say he could leave and Jessica couldn’t? Blake at present grimaced thinking if Loutermilch had smiled before trying to touch Jessica. Did he, did he even confess feelings of ‘admiration’, ‘affection’ and ‘love’? God, the thought of it made him sick. Jessica must have felt completely disgusted and scared. It must have even been a bit of a shock though not entirely…Jessica had wanted Blake to stay…so Loutermilch had been after her for some time and she unfortunately had to experience it.

 

Blake remembered reading the email and how Loutermilch was pretty much trying to lie about Jessica so that he could have his way with her. He didn’t understand why Loutermilch was so into Jessica, she was only a child after all, all that potential that he stated, well, she was only a kid. What did Loutermilch want? Was Loutermilch trying to shame him because the fucker was jealous that Blake actually was age appropriate for his obsession? Made sense. Nor else, he didn’t seem to hate Blake, only when he caught him with Jessica did he first see the nasty side of Loutermilch. Though, he wasn’t what Loutermilch was actually envious of — him with Jessica meaning he was not the same age as him or the fact he was with Jessica or the fact he was with Jessica but should be with him instead. Who knows, if Loutermilch was interested in him too and was caught off-guard finding both of them and knew that perhaps, Jessica, having known his true face, wouldn’t leave him alone so it had to be Jessica who he assaulted.

 

“You are quiet…” Marta asks it almost like a question, perhaps it was more so a question than a statement.

 

“I am thinking how it is normal to feel jealous in your town. No one was really intimate. I don’t know if Val was a woman or a man, or both. But, they didn’t seem to have had any relations or relationships they could keep aside from the children. And, when that was taken away Val succumbed to the voices in the signals, to the visions, succumbed to their madness. It was a kind of rage, a kind of grieving. You killed Ethan. I suppose what you did was less volatile but not less damage. Kill one or a hundred; killing is still killing. However, I would be a fraud to say that…I am not from Temple Gate, I have never lived the lives you all lived. For me, it’s easy to serve as the resident pacifist. But, who knew how you people lived. What hardships you had to face. I am not saying killing made things right because it didn’t. But I also know for a fact that you never wanted to kill anyone. Unlike, some of them who took to it too well. You always questioned.”

 

“Papa said it was my imperfect faith.” Marta chuckled, “Papa said so many women were willing to kill for the good of the paradise we had. So many men as well. So, he thought me strange to not like the killings. Thought my faith should be better.”

 

“You don’t seem to be too much a fan of mutilation…” The words came out before he could stop himself, pause and reflect.

 

“Excuse me…?” Marta had to look at him. She smelled his hair. Blake’s hair was starting to grow rapidly. This was not necessarily uncommon for some men. Though Marta had seen Blake with a semi-shaved head. It looked neat and she could speculate that it was a new shave. Now, after a week and a half, the hair was growing fast. At the sides and at the front a lush like deep brown coat appeared; sprinkled with a bit of copper. It was like sweet clean water, the smell on his hair, then something like a natural chemical, smoke or mint? Either way, it smelled good. She began to envy his locks. Her hair was still stringy and oily from what she can tell. Her tresses did not grow always long; which she hated. Shortness of hair should be a choice, in her opinion. If length would grow long. Hers usually became narrower, like a tail, on her back, which she chopped off some times. Gave it until the meeting of her shoulder blades and link of ribs, a small of her back. She remembered that Anna Lee could grow it longer but her hair also narrowed down like a tail. But even she cut it as a boy’s she looked divine. Not many of them had blonde hair or black. It was usually darker brown, a mixture of yellow and red and light brown. Though, people preferred the blonde to the black. She felt unhappy at times that happened. She felt people calling her a witch at times came from the white skin and black hair. Superstition or a sign? She couldn’t tell. But they had brought it, the assumption, from the old world; the world they said was evil and they had to leave behind. Marta wondered why they didn’t leave behind that.

 

She wondered if Blake, seeing her appearance, also thought she was a witch thus uttered the question. It brought back an old pain. Yet, a bit fresh and new as well. It was funny. She was actually pained by being ostracised by the outsider like she was once were a babe and fear of the ostracism of her own people. No…she shouldn’t call them her people…force of habit, force of a habituated life. They never belonged to one another. They were all under a spell from a real witch. This company, Murkoff. This was responsible. It pained her and so she couldn’t sleep. Her whole life. Everything. A lie? It hurt so badly. All those killings, all those babies burnt and throats slit, all for nothing? No sign. No apocalypse. Well, there was an apocalypse. Just, not the one they had been waiting for. It felt surreal and infallible. Why did this have to happened to her? To any of them? She had to smile, she also included Blake amongst that query.

 

“I mean…” Blake brought them back, “I was chased by these real weird people…” He looked at apologetically, “Like, they put all these dismembered bodies on a bed and one of them were cutting limbs downstairs with bodies on the dining table. To say I was horrified was the least. But, I went to this place which was apparently your piece. I saw a burnt body and some decapitated…people strung up…but it seemed you just cut them down and threw them away most of the times. You didn’t seem keen on mutilating them.”

 

“I…” When hearing of her deeds out front, verbally, it sounded really, really, _bad_ , very cruel…well, they were cruel, to say they weren’t would be a lie, she had never liked it though. Never got a taste for it like those men and women who liked cleaving up pieces right in their kitchen, as though it was a neat hobby. She just didn’t like to be ‘precious’ about it. Something felt like someone was teasingly said that to someone else on a completely different thing. People took hurting the heretics preciously. As religiously as Sunday Prayer. She took it more like a job. That is why Knoth felt she was imperfect. That she was so, he once mentioned, ‘casual’ about it. Where was the passion? Marta just didn’t like to feel passionate about killing. Something felt obviously vulgar about it. Something told her someone else used that word for seemingly contrary reasons.

 

“I read the letter Knoth gave you…” Blake said, “I am sorry,” he adds, “It was outside. And, I am a journalist, well, at least partly, it was in my nature to read things. Reading also helped me keep some of what I knew together. Also,” he seemed pretty nervous, “I was losing it…” this was a deep confession, Marta thought if this is how Val felt when people confessed to them or ‘him’ as they usually referred to Val, though Marta felt she was more of a better listener than Val anyway. Not dissing Val, just Val and Knoth were better preachers than listeners, no wonder one had the cult and the other the heretics, she felt she listened better and could take better action. She also realised that one time this may be considered quite an offense, but she was happy it wasn’t, after all Knoth may have unknowingly listened to Murkoff and caused damage, if only everyone was more honest with each other. She wondered if Knoth felt at the end if something was wrong, was he afraid, perhaps he was… “Like really losing it…” Blake continued, “I was seeing Jessica, she is, was, a childhood friend of mine and I witnessed her murder and I couldn’t tell anyone about it…I also had no idea what was happening all around me. I felt scared and alone. And, then Lynn was abducted. I just didn’t understand why everything was going to hell around me.”

 

“That’s an interesting expression.” Marta caught it, “Things going to hell around you.” Then she chuckled, though, underneath that chuckle Blade could sense the low guttural sound of frustration and rage, “Technically, it was supposed to be going to hell all around us. We were told that the end of days was near and that we must all succumb to the end. We were all told to kill ourselves in one way or the other. We were to destroy the antichrist to stop the end of days. Some believing it could not be done decided to end their lives. It was actually expected of us to do so if we failed beating the antichrist. I was probably the last soldier the cult sent to kill you and your yokemate. When I failed. I failed everyone.”

 

“You didn’t fail anyone…” Blake got slightly annoyed, “I mean there was no fucking baby!” Blake now shivered and held himself, “I…Lynn died for nothing…literally _nothing_ …I don’t even know what the fuck happened to her…I can’t…” Blake started sobbing, “I knew my wife since we were ten years old. I didn’t think she would suddenly die like that. This is one of the worst things I have ever faced in my life. With Jessica I knew that the priest killed her but Lynn died and I don’t know _how_ or _why_. This is just…so…. fucking…insane…”

 

“We are not meant to understand everything, Blake…” the name rolled smoothly of her tongue, she felt it was quite immaculate and firm, like a soft sort of break in a song, the name was not common within their folk, they liked names like ‘Joseph’, ‘Paul’, ‘Adrien’ and ‘Septimus’ — all names that were a bit archaic and a bit biblical. Personally, she wouldn’t think of any mother or father keen on naming their daughters Jessica or Lynn either. Those were the names of the other world and if possible should be avoided. There had been one Jessica when she was growing up and she had died from a fever when she was small. Another unpopular name was Helen. Helen was a name considered seductive and whorish. But there had been a Helen when she was growing up too. Though she was also a dark blonde mischievous girl who read “restricted” literature. Marta remembered how her father liked Helen. She felt a bit unhappy when her father gave her a novel called _Jane Eyre_. Marta had wanted to read it and her father did give it to her but he felt a sort of friendship with the other girl that Marta felt she was not a part of. It wasn’t sexual. Marta’s father was one of the first people who actually did not like Knoth. Her mother was similarly losing interest in him. It seemed strange that their own child would become Knoth’s Avenging Angel. However, Knoth and she were somewhat friends since they were children. And, she had valued their intimacy. Even now she knew at that time he was being unselfish with her. Though, that did change later on.

 

“Would you…” Blake took some moments to process, “Stop with that religious stuff!” He was getting upset, though he still trembled like a leaf unsure of why the wind was howling, “I know we don’t know everything…but…I needed to know why Lynn died…I need to know…what happened to all of us…don’t you see what a violent madness this is? Or, are you just so sucker punched by it to just accept it messing you up like this?” It was in the last words he caught himself a bit. What was he thinking? This is tremendously hard for Marta. Her entire world was a lie even if the emotions and feelings, the bonds and the relationships necessarily weren’t. He felt stupid saying that and he saw Marta’s face ashen as if stabbed by her own pickaxe. She trembled out of sadness herself. Then shock her head.

 

“Blake, it doesn’t have to be religious. It just is the way of the world. We are not always meant to immediately know about things.”

 

“Marta,” he looked at her and suddenly held her, “I am sorry. I am overstepping. This feels odd and I am sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just miss Lyn…”

 

“I understand.” Marta looks at him, he holds him back for a while, “I miss everything…” she wasn’t really trying to compete, “I don’t know what was real or not. Should I miss anything or not? It wasn’t always violent or bloody. It feels really strange. What am I going to do?”

 

Blake could hear Marta’s hands shaking. He didn’t know what to do either. He tried to embrace her but she wasn’t holding him back but still she was shivering.

 

Suddenly, Blake kissed Marta on her cheek. It was sudden. He didn’t know what he was thinking. Marta stopped for a moment. She looked at him.

 

After a moment, Blake and Marta pressed lips. This seemed strange at the same time, comforting. Blake opened his mouth a bit. Marta slid her tongue in. Warmth and moistness met and shudders of thunder crept up their back as though electricity on telephone wires. The nodes hungry for more chemical and charge. Blake and Marta kept on kissing. Tongue leapt on tongue. Shifting and shaping into different beings. As though both predator and prey, then preys and then predators. There was no clear dominance or submission. Marta was enjoying that.

 

How long has it been since she felt the thrill of an equal?

 

Even now Blake wondered if he was her equal, this large, strong, effortless agile woman. Who looked at least a good ten years older than him. Still her mouth so ripe. Like a succulent cocoon that burst forth a newer creature or a fruit so carnal and fierce than even beasts could fear this seedy yet fleshy nectar. He felt whole. His eyes close.

 

He wanted to be worthy.

 

After the kiss ended.

 

Marta blinked. So did Blake.

 

They shared a stare. Companionable Respectful.

 

“There was…another reason…”

 

“Hmm?” Blake perked up.

 

“For killing Ethan.”

 

“Oh…” Blake did not know if it was shock or just curiosity.

 

“Ethan’s father, Ethan senior, use to fuck around with my Mama.”

 

 

 


	2. Sickness of the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like this chapter. It leaves with some stuff that may be a good intro to another arc

 

**Sickness of the Soul**

 

Marta almost got up with a start. She had only slept for like an hour. She couldn’t sleep further and the feeling of panic mixed with tiredness and grogginess was not helping her at all. She rubbed her shoulder and her right arm. She saw the groove of bent bone in there; it was an injury she had when she was around eight years old. She fell into a ditch and she had her pickaxe; it snagged to save her from falling down heavily but the angle she gripped it in made her arm ‘bend’ if not necessarily break. There was a light sprain though. She was slightly ambidextrous do to her working with both her arms most of the time and the injury helped fix it up more.  For a while, she just sat in the heap in the kitchen floor of their small apartment like room in the middle of somewhere Arizona town. She shivered. She felt cold in her bones and she didn’t know why. She didn’t know what it meant and it made her scared from time to time. She wondered if Blake had gotten any sleep. The thought humoured her enough to get a laugh; albeit a small one which was gruff and almost scathingly dripped in irony. Here she was, a few days ago, trying to kill Blake Langermann. Now, she was thinking if he was alright and sleeping well.

 

Marta didn’t know how and why her animosity for Blake receded as soon as she realised that everything was a lie. She should hate him even unfairly, she thought. Wasn’t he a reason her world came crashing down? Though her world at Temple Gate has already crashed and burned a long time ago. There had been signs of that tangible apocalypse of a personal nature. Her father and mother’s marriage was one of the reasons. How they fought and never purely get along. When they even did, it was pretty short lived. For a time, Marta had thought who would she choose, her mother or father? In her youth, she sometimes disliked her mother for her beauty and socialness. While she grew up she would really admire and love her mother for the exact same things. She thought Rosemary Hawthorne, née Arrow, was a great therapist and counsellor for Temple Gate. People would and could trust her. She had all the qualities of a chief deacon. When she was younger she loved her father’s frankness and compliments. When she got older she started to loathe some of that too. Vincent Hawthorne’s frankness sometimes came out as ignorance or even mean comments to Rosemary. He would not like her questioning Knoth or Temple Gate initially and made it like his mission to belittle her. Looking back, he realised why her mother would at one point dislike Vincent and not be so close to him. Yes, he had good looks and a good education but he was also a bit haughty and arrogant. Later onwards, he would understand his mistakes. Vincent would turn out to be more logical and emotional helping his empathy and judgment. By that time, it would be too late his marriage.

 

Marta remembered being angry with her mother more. That time she didn’t completely like to think her father was culpable too. It wasn’t necessarily Temple Gate which made her think like that. She would just want to feel her mother was more culpable. Probably, she would think that her mother not choosing her father anymore was a betrayal even to her, who had many of her father’s features on her. Thinking about it now, she realised it was the right conclusion. She just wanted to blame her mother. Even if it was unfair, Marta just wanted to do it. Call it teenage stubbornness or just something that made less sense, it was there, and it had been wrong. Now, she was just happy that she realised that she was wrong. Funny, her life was a lie and that has numbed her but she was glad to understand her mother. She knew her mother had forgiven her as she had said so; that even her lacking of understanding was not really going to stop her from loving her. That was a brave thing her mom did, Marta thought, she was being an unsophisticated runt yet her mother chose to not judge her.

 

Before Marta knew it, she started sobbing and crying pretty loudly. She felt the strain in her more intimate and close than a knife lodged there by some heinous attack. Her poor mother, it just feels so wrong. Not only her own response to her mother but also the way her life was lived out at the end. It was just too sad and too wrong, and it made even her life being a lie have an eclipse if not a complete erasure. So, even what her mother endured was a lie? It was not the truth. It was never good for the flock at Temple Gate. It was a selfish decision made by a selfish man: Knoth. And, then Knoth had made it look so prudent and good. That this was the end for the people who went astray and that lesser whores should be eradicated nor else they too will help precipitate in the coming of the female antichrist. She could not understand her own erasure of her mother; Rosemary and herself always had a decent and good relationship. It was her father later on she did not necessarily like and admire. This was also for Knoth’s influence. Surely, she should have understood.

 

But she hadn’t…

 

…she was the one astray.

 

If she had challenged Knoth would her mother be alive today?

 

Thinking of it made her sick to her stomach.

 

She almost felt she wanted to puke.

 

And, after sobbing and wailing for five more minutes, she actually did.

 

The vomit got all over her tee and her long pants and mudded the floor around her as she went for three heaves and then another five all the in the expanse of seven minutes.

 

“Woah! Marta!”

 

She couldn’t even feel Blake’s face. She felt his presence as a silhouette and a patina of some blurry lines as her head hurt and she couldn’t see well for a while. Though, his arms were soft and heated. Wait, too warm and heated?

 

In her own sickness, she realised that Blake was sick too.

 

This was no sickness of the soul. Not entirely. It was but it became transferred to the body.

 

It was trauma. Fresh and unapologetic. Trauma was also an acknowledgment. A truth to be realised and understood. So, she was happy it was not just a reaction to a lie. She needed this sickness if it was the truth. If in the white light and noise of Temple Gate was a lie this was a flimsy log that held sanity and empathy together with the sense of self. With this thought she touched Blake’s face, startling him to move back a bit and fall down.

 

“I am sorry…” Marta realised that even if they had kissed, Blake was still unsure and a little afraid of her. Could she blame him? She would try hard to win his trust. She was the one who instigated in him a sense of dread. And, she didn’t like it. She wasn’t sociopathic or sadistic. She thought she was just doing her job as sentinel to Temple Gate. Being its witness, judge and executioner. “I am just…” she was seeing Blake calm down, he looked apologetic as well, “I noticed, do you have a fever?”

 

Blake was sweating a bit, “I…” he paused, “I think so, I have been feeling unwell. I don’t know what to say. I just feel scared and jittery.” He admitted and Marta looked on sad, “I feel, something, maybe even you, the negative you, or one person of Temple Gate or a Heretic will come over and try to get me. I just feel like I am losing it…” Marta saw with sadness Blake was sobbing and shaking, “I just feel so alone.”

 

“Perhaps, we should feel alone…” Marta explained, “Together...”

 

Blake looked at. This isn’t usually the scene someone says this. With both of them sick, with vomit all around. The scene definitely felt genuine to them. In sickness and health? That sounds a lot like a friendship too. Never giving up on the other. How many can say this? Them being sick was their body’s way of dealing.

 

Blake looked at her sweetly. Marta started coughing again and Blake rushed to her as Marta vomited a bit again, “It’s a lot to take…” Marta weakly stated. Blake nodded. He was teary too. “What do I do now?” Marta looked at him desperately, grabbing him, “Is it too late? Can’t I well, think of any other way to live?”

 

“Even if I wasn’t in the same position as you…” Blake confessed, “I lived with Lynn my entire life. It hurts to know she won’t be around anymore…” Blake sobbed, “It just pains me to know she isn’t around.” Marta’s hands were clean as she touched Blake’s cheek and forehead. She coughed again. Blake got up and got her water. She tried to swallow as it was very hard for her to do much. She kept on drinking the water in slow, careful slips with Blake holding the glass. Marta acknowledged the kindness. She had not always faced it back in Temple Gate. While growing up she had many kindnesses, people to stand for her and people to stand by her side. As she grew older, these people thinned out. Slowly, she almost had no one. Paul Mills was cruel to her in their shared childhood. In adulthood, he continued his cruelty with others. With Marta, there was distance and any affection he did want to give her made Marta suspicious. When they did have some communication, some understanding, it still felt strained. Perhaps not always. Marta missed her childhood friends. She also missed Samuel Jenkins. Samuel was her friend. And, that was the hardest bit. That was one of the hardest things in her life.

 

It was harder when she realised the words Samuel was mouthing was “I forgive you.” She just slashed at the nearby beam of his house. She wept in agony. Why did it have to be like that? Why couldn’t she tell Samuel to run away? She knew why…out there was the Clegg-son, Nigel, and some of the new butchers like the incestuous brothers and lovers, Phineas and Rufus. If she let him go, they were right outside, with their cleavers, ready to pounce on him. She felt still nauseas. Afterwards, she had vomited into a nearby bucket. She couldn’t forget Samuel saying, “I forgive you.”

 

She would never deserve forgiveness. She had thought always grace, and never peace. So, she had nursed her sorrow about Samuel. Things were changing; she now knew that everything had been a lie. So, perhaps, finally, she will accept the gift of forgiveness Samuel gave her.

 

She hadn’t meant to kill him.

 

It was her order that she couldn’t defy.

 

Her hand had been slipping on her pickaxe. Samuel had noticed and smiled. He knew her hesitation. She had pleaded with him. More sincerely than Knoth telling Val to give themselves up. She had asked of him to look inside himself and see that his mutiny was not a truth. That, he should become part of the flock again. Samuel stated merely he “cared for horse, not much for sheep” and looked at her defiantly. He also stated, that she was always “one of them.” Marta wondered how pious her could be one of them. She got enraged for a moment and it showed. She dashed off some of his cutlery and china. She was angry at him. Should her kindness mean that she had imperfect faith? What did Papa Knoth tell her? She will the wraith, leave God to be the mercy. She was the ransom and the plague. That moment she wanted to be neither.

 

She just wanted to be Marta.

 

Friend to Samuel Jenkins and Silas Sohr. Even if he hated Ethan senior and bore a biased grudge for Ethan sharing the name she did not have anything for the other Sohrs.

 

Yet, she thinks Samuel also knew this wouldn’t happen. He had smiled. Agreeably, even if he had started with anger, he cooled down and said, “I liked your hesitation, Marta. I am grateful for it. There is so much of that young girl that I knew. You have become a woman, alright. You still are the same. Though, Knoth has misguided you. How many people would he kill? He is already started killing babes who do no wrong. You do realise, right? Marta there is a chance there was never an antichrist and Knoth has been tricked! I just don’t feel this is God! You have some doubts too, right?!” And, she had swung the pickaxe at a nearby chair, making it to splinters, telling Samuel to not tell these lies. Samuel knew, perhaps by an odd stroke of lucky. The True God in heaven must have unveiled to him and others like him. She should have listened. By that time, she just needed, craved, her purpose as the sentinel.

 

“What are you thinking about?”

 

Blake’s voice permeated through her senses making her look at a sick man who was trying to help her up, “I…”  
  
“Whatever it is, don’t stress on it,” Blake assured her, “Get out of these clothes, take a bath. It’ll make you feel better.” Blake smiled, “You need to be fit okay and healthy…” he got a bit nervous, “I am not exactly sure what will be the next thing we are going to deal with and seeing I already encountered and escaped from a demon like thing that was like my old teacher from school; I am not crossing out the possibilities.”

 

Marta nodded, “A waking dream? We had those too.” Marta looked distant, “They were, very life-like and real. They seemed to be able to hurt you outside of dreams…” Looking at Blake, “What do you think it all means?”

 

“I don’t know.” Blake confessed, “I…know I read Gospel of Knoth chapters. It was explained there that these are like terrors from our youth and nightmares, but…”

 

“It seemed _real_ , more than an apparition…” Marta admitted and Blake nodded. “I think, it was real too. The shadow…”

 

“What shadow?”

 

“There was this shadow that only some of us could see. It was part of the god that Knoth talked to though less convoluted — Knoth encountered it as multitudinous limbs and eyes and jaws as such — I saw it as a more human figure just like a larger, skinnier at times figure who had a large jaw and even skeletal parts that moved around. It also reminded me of ghost tales as well. Though, I don’t think ghosts are real. So, I don’t know what it is to be honest. It just came and went as it pleased. At times, it tormented me making it hard to sleep. Not everyone could see it, though. Perhaps, during the end they could but not before that. Only some of us could see it.”

 

Hearing Marta’s explanation, Blake sighed and his lips and hands trembled, “Why not? I already got dragged through the mud, crucified and relived my most repressed memory. A being that masquerades like a god would do great for my bucket list now on: Cameraman, Scared and Stupid or Cameraman, Nakedly Afraid.”

 

Marta had to smile a bit at those comments. Though she could feel a pain in Blake’s words. These were not what he set out to do when he went to understand Anna Lee’s death. This wasn’t anything remotely close to what he thought he would have to endure. Or, was it?

 

“Blake.”

 

“Yeah, sorry. I won’t make wise cracks like that.” Blake rubbed his head, “It doesn’t seem fair.”

 

“It isn’t really about that.” Marta softly spoke, “What…?” she hesitates, her voice shaky, Blake notices and stays alert, “What did you hope you have found? Regarding her death?”

 

“To be honest, cult wasn’t top on our list but a group of people living in a commune wasn’t scratched off of Lynn’s list either.” Blake chuckled a bit, “We did think we may find people who live differently. We thought it could be some Luddite colony; not necessarily religious.”

 

“What was your top idea?” Marta looked pretty curious.

 

“That she was probably an abused young girl who was a runaway.” Blake admitted, “That turned out to be somewhat true so. We didn’t think she was fifteen at that time. She looked taller like you. So, I guess people thought nineteen or twenty at best. It was when Ethan talked to me I realised that Anna Lee was a young girl.” Blake then looked at Marta, “Marta, I, uh…”

 

Marta noticed he was struggling with this, “Yes?”

 

“Didn’t you feel weird that Knoth would have sex with a fifteen-year-old girl?”

 

“I…” Marta got quiet, “It didn’t sit well with me always, however, Knoth was our leader and our Modern Ezekiel. We couldn’t really deny him anything. If we tried we would be harshly persuaded otherwise.” Marta saying this made Blake remember on Marta not wishing to kill yet being told off by Knoth, “It became my life all these years to listen to Knoth and…” she looked teary, “Cling to him. I was scared if I was going to lose him I would not have anyone. I felt alone and scared. Knoth used that of course. I saw it at times. That he needed my services. It was just that, wasn’t it? I was everything aside than a human, a woman. I felt completely dull and unresponsive. I just wanted to protect Temple Gate. I took it as my duty. I probably shouldn’t have. I mean what was I protecting? Everything got destroyed in the end. It meant nothing.”

 

“I don’t think that is entirely true.” Marta listened to Blake’s soft consolation, his voice, though a hot breath next to her skin, fevered and a bit weak, was strong enough to tell her to hold on. She didn’t know if she should blush or feel relieved; after all, he hadn’t spoken of her feelings and emotions in a long time to anyone. Ever since Asher, Thad and Helen went away she could feel no one else could really take their place. She felt the same. People are usually irreplaceable; especially, the ones who you loved and adored, who understood. With Blake, it was a new beginning. He had a promise in him and she could feel it pulsate like her own vein. It was more of an epiphany than anything she had felt and she knew Knoth never felt like this too; with either the supposed human and the pretending divine. It felt more than nice to know that she could count on Blake. Yes, she knew she couldn’t fully trust him yet and neither could he. Or, were them feeling numb and sick, eradicating that? Either didn’t still have their guard down. Blake still shivered at her proximity and Marta seems either eager to grab him, to stop him to ‘escape’ (forgetting he was not the enemy any longer) or scuttling to know what he is doing. At the same time, Blake and she seemed ready to punch each other if need be. Though, that feeling came up less than expected; it could be the sickness.

 

“You mean, it had meaning?” Marta looked annoyed, she didn’t completely know what was being said here.

 

“Well, to you, it definitely did, Marta.” Blake slowly spoke, “It was who you were and your friendships were real. The people you bonded with. I know there may be some,” then curiously, “Though currently there are not many.”

 

“Well, currently none of my close childhood friends are really alive so…” Marta explained.

 

“Did you kill them?”  Blake asks quietly, after a while, it feels like it was going to be asked anyway.

 

“Not everyone.” Marta looks a bit teary, “Actually, most of them I didn’t. Thank God.” Then she elaborates, “I killed one of them, Samuel Jenkins, and perhaps helped ferry some of the others to their deaths at the hand of the butchers.”

 

Blake got quiet, “That must have been really _hard_.”

 

“It was, but I was acted that it didn’t bother me. When Thaddeus was going away. I didn’t say anything. Though he had other brothers and sisters; some joining the butchers. I never wwas close to any of them aside Glad —“

 

“Glad?”

 

“That was Thad’s nickname, Glad, we sometimes called him Thad the Glad.” Marta smiled, she was getting up and realising she was a mess. There were some kitchen tissues in nearby on the table and she went to use them only to have Blake stop her for a while. He got the tissues too and they both seemed to be cleaning the puddle and throwing the vomit into the wastebasket. “Though, he wasn’t so glad or lucky in the end.”

 

“What happened?” Blake asked quietly.

 

“Thad was part of the Scalled.” This was painful to Marta to say, “He was one of the first ones and he knew he had syphilis. I didn’t understand how he could have a sickness of the soul but I thought he may have and told him and he got disappointed and told me that I shouldn’t be the one saying that since I knew him well. And, I did apologise. It did seem unlikely he would be a sick person. Knoth told me later it was for his merriment and lack of following rules but Glad never caused trouble for anyone,” Marta was trembling, Blake noticed how hard it was to talk to her about this and wondering if it was wise to ask questions, “He never really hurt anyone and he was always helping others. He died within half a year.” Marta’s tears fell slowly, Blake could feel the heartbreak, “I was there when he died and he told me ‘Marta, there really are angels, I can see them, and you are one of them.’ I didn’t know what to say. I just went home and I cried.” Marta sobbed. Then as Blake held her hand, after they had cleaned up a bit more, she spoke, “His wife and children committed suicide along with Temple Gate. His wife and children weren’t as accommodating to Thad after he got sick. He married late and his wife killed I think one or two of their youngins. He had two more and they were a bit older but I saw their bodies. I don’t think he would have been able to kill his own. He one day even stated that he wouldn’t wish to kill his own children. I knew that was considered heresy to Temple Gate. But, I understood no one wished to really kill their own children. Well, not many anyway. They got used to it but some never did. And. Val was the only one with a conscience enough to see it. I didn’t completely like it. I accepted it as part of Temple Gate. I just don’t know if it is something I really liked or wanted to do.”

 

“Val attacked me in the mines. I don’t know if they completely raped me or not. Yet, they did assault me. Sorry, if I don’t feel like feeling great about them at the moment.” Blake angrily spoke out.

 

There was a moment of silence which Marta broke, “Val…attacked you…?”

 

“Yeah, they did.” Blake felt miserable. The thought of it creeping on his spine. Val chasing him in the mines was one of the most horrific memories of his life which could rival his repressed feeling of guilt that he had with Jessica’s death. The feeling of dread in the half chasm of water, the curiosity and fear at where all the power was coming from in a supposed derelict mine — and, then Val’s torch rippling through the water and the dark signalling their coming forth and Blake panicking beyond anything, his heart racing in his ribcage and blood rushing through his veins like a flood breaking out a dam. He was muttering prayers and curses alongside together like some sort of binary code as he hid low in the water. At one point, he thought she saw Val, look even closer at the water and he almost peed himself. Val was dangerous. Something about them scared the fucking hell outta him. He couldn’t understand it at first. Then he realised it when Val was on top of him. Val reminded him of a perverse version of Jessica or even a lighter version of Loutermilch. The “resilient, smiley, flirt” persona described by Loutermilch to connote Jessica also applied to Val. It was just scary knowing that Val was (or, did he imagine it) calling his name and telling him to “make things right” like Loutermilch said to him all those years ago. It just didn’t make sense to him how and why Val would use the same words. It still didn’t make sense to him completely. 

 

Marta could notice that Blake was really quiet all this time. She could feel the burden and the feeling of disgust that was coming to Blake, “I am really sorry, Blake.” Marta wanted to embrace him. She just wanted to hold him and tell him things were okay now and that he was doing okay even though things were not okay beforehand. She desperately wanted him to feel relieved. He reminded her much of herself. To feel helpless and confused is something she intimately knew under similar circumstances. Yet, even though they shared a kiss, which seemed chaste, she didn’t know if she could. So, she still did. Holding him close. He didn’t resist. He didn’t show any body language or sign of resistance or reluctance. There was a just a hitch or nervousness that got abated soon. He pressed his head warmly on her collarbones and top of her chest and closed his eyes and breathed in. He felt alright and this felt right. He wasn’t going to argue with an innocent good feeling.

 

“You know why I also kissed you?”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because, when a friend of mine was killed the same priest or teacher who killed her, Loutermilch, he told me that I was rightfully feeling ashamed, that shame was a gift from God. He was wrong. Even if shame is a gift from God he was manipulating my feelings. What I did with you, to me, was innocent. And, I wasn’t going to let him dupe me again. If I kissed you and made us feel better for the while. I would gladly do it again. I mean —“ hearing Marta chuckle made Blake blush, “If we need it.”

 

“Of course, Blake.” Marta was stroking his hair. He had a pretty much bald or shaved head with bristles when he came to Temple Gate. Now, there was a fine sheen on his hair. Lush and half-tone brown, not exactly too deep but dark enough. It reminded her of wet earth near the lake where Helen Bailey used to also enjoy her time. It was something that seemed calm. “Blake, what does your name mean?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Your name. It’s not one I heard often.” Marta looked at him settled safely in her chest.

 

“Well, I guess we don’t necessarily know our name meanings. I know that my Mother really liked my name as it rhymed with snowflake and so she could sing it in her lullabies. Though, I never knew what my name meant. I know, that Lynn’s name meant ‘lake’ though.”

 

“You knew her name meaning?”

 

“Yeah, she knew her name meaning when she was a kid. Her parents were into those things ever since they were little so she actually knew her name meaning since she was small. Jessica and I, well, we didn’t think too much of our names. Jessica is a common name in our world and in our part of the world. So, she took it as that. Though later on, I came to know that Jessica is a Hebrew name, derived from Iska, and it meant ‘God’s foresight’ or something similar and that Shakespeare made it popular when he made Shylock’s daughter be named Jessica.” Blake explained while he was cradled in Marta’s chest. She had taken off her tee and was now just wearing a tank top. It wasn’t common for her to show much skin but she was getting comfortable around Blake. It still sometimes made her blush though knowing she was wearing this white tank, which thankfully wasn’t stained by her vomit and served as an undershirt, in front of Blake. She hadn’t been so casually dressed in front of men and women aside her friends like Asher, Helen and Thad.

 

“So, how did you find out Jessica’s name meaning?”

 

“Uh, well I…” Blake looked up, “I looked at it on the internet.”

 

“Internet?” Marta looked at him.

 

“Yeah, it’s service. That allows to hold information up in a space we refer to nowadays as a cloud. We call it cloud because the information is stored mostly in data space and satellites on orbit with our planet. Basically, you know phone lines, right?” Blake started explaining.

 

Marta nods, this all sounded extremely interesting to her. A cloud in space, but digital, that is actually holding information.

 

“Well, telephone lines also carry information similarly but mostly old technologies use analog information. Digital input is binary and holds more information as information can be broken down and store in separate ‘packets’ of data.” Blake was recalling the basics of computing he was learning in class around fifth and sixth grade, though he was using AOL since fourth grade, “Data is unprocessed information, it is fragments to information’s syntax. Information in computing usually translates to data that can be read and made meaning of. We are living in an information era. Mostly, of the digital sorts. People do a lot in the net, which is the short form of internet, another is ‘web’ from world-wide web. Opposite of internet is intranet. Intranet is a closed system that houses specific date and stuff for like a company or institution. That is basically what is all about. Just on a basic scale. A software engineer or a computer programmer may possibly give you more information.”

 

Marta looked pretty interested, “Simeon talked about something like this. There was a gas station they went to and Simeon was having a lively chat with a woman who fixed computers and also was interested in this internet thing. Paul told him to stop flirting and get back to getting gasoline. However, Simeon was annoyed as he was more interested in talking about computers and he was actually talking about a ‘block’ or was it ‘bog’ or ‘blog’ is that is a word to talk more about Gospel of Knoth and all of that though Paul pretty much stated that this were all perverse ideas and he should keep them to himself and not go on about it or else he would tell Papa Knoth. Well, Simeon stated this was why he didn’t get to be chief deacon. This made a row between them; most of the men and women were worried about the row but some were actually interested in the net. I think Maryanne was as well.”  

 

“Who is Maryanne?” Blake asked innocuously, “Is she another friend of hers?”

 

“Not really.” Marta sighed, “She used to like me a bit better when she was younger. You could say she thought I would her trusted servant or something. I wasn’t going to be anything like that. Knoth seemed to favour me a lot so that got on her nerves. To answer yer question, she is Knoth’s granddaughter. Or, _was_. Uh, yah,” She could see Blake’s face hang for a moment, “She is the daughter of Corgan and Ruth Pannet who are half-siblings. Corgan is Knoth’s child from Ruth Ibis. You might have met Corgan. You should know him as the man who talked about consuming the flesh and spicing it well? The renditions of the gospel prayers he spoke use to sometimes bore me so, I think you may have met him. Not sure though.”

 

“Maryanne is Knoth’s granddaughter, what do you mean ‘was’?” Blake asked, incredulously hearing the stories, though he remembered knowing that Knoth’s gospels allowed incest, which was obviously the interest of someone else than God, “Is she dead?”

 

“Well, she was disowned. Though there was some pardon available to her only slightly. It wasn’t fully there. Knoth wanted Val to return only because Val was valuable as their namesake I guess.” Marta chuckled a bit at this and Blake had to smile a bit for the pun, “Maryanne joined the heretics. It was pretty confusing. But, that girl was always interested in fornication and living a life that had no rules. She, by that time, was unhappy that her own father and uncles were not paying attention to her much. Val, as chief deacon, listened to her confessions and showed a kindness she did not completely know. An understanding; she wrote this in a letter that Knoth read out to me. She called Knoth many names; told him he was bad in bed and pretty much stated she would choose Val over him anyday. I think those insults really got to Knoth so he wasn’t completely sure if he should issue a pardon for her. I am not sure if she died with some of the other Heretics. Yet, she was a flighty and enraged one since her youth like her father Corgan. She wasn’t calm as Zedekiah Knoth or Zephaniah Pannet. Zedekiah is the youngest child and he was possibly even born after Corgan and Zephaniah. We don’t know what really happened to him.”

 

“What do you mean?” Blake looked confused.

 

“Sometimes, people disappeared from Temple Gate.” Marta told the truth, “We figured that perhaps the apparitions took them away. And, we were answered at times with their dead and mutilated bodies. Other times, we never got to find bodies or even a trace to what happened to them. We assumed they were dead or lost. It was hard to know what really happened to them.”

 

“Do you think…” Blake sounded scared, “That Murkoff may have took them?”

 

“Murkoff, the company?” Marta looked wide eyed.

 

“Yes. For being their sample test subjects.” Blake stopped a bit, this was sensitive information for Marta, what if Murkoff cut them up and kept them in vats or jars, disembodied bodies and eviscerated people? This was not a good topic to talk to Marta about; he was regretting bringing it up, even, “I mean…” trying to change topics, “Do you think they are still alive, but Murkoff has them?”

 

“I know you are trying to be gentle with me but…” Marta looked sad yet determined, “I am not sure if they are alive or dead. If they were taken there is a chance they won’t be alive or in one piece. In the end, they made us do such terrible things to each other, why should they spare people who are strangers to them any more cruelty? They allowed our own kin to do monstrous acts with each other. There is no reason for monsters like them to be kind…no not monsters…” Marta chose her words, “We were the monsters. The white light made us what we mostly are. Murkoff were not put under a white light. They did most of these terrible acts by themselves. Even if we are culpable of our actions so are they; more so than we are. They must pay dearly for what they have. They are the uttermost garbage of humanity.”

 

“You are right about that…” Blake sounded weak. Marta looked at him and he looked dizzy and light headed. She went and caught him as he about to fall, he had stepped away from her a while back. “Sorry, I feel bad…”

 

“You have a fever. Let me get you into bed.” Marta says this with efficiency as Blake feels he is being carried in the arms, bridal-style, by this taller woman, “I am gonna get some cold compresses made out of towels. You should get some sleep. You need to sleep. Forget about demons and deaths. Think about your wife. Think about how you can meet her in dreams.” The thought felt comforting as Marta took off Blake’s sandals and put him into bed. She put a light sheet over him as a cover. She went to the bathroom and put them under water, squeezed the liquid out of them and then went and gave Blake the cool of the towel over his body and over his head.

 

Marta saw Blake was heating up. He was in a delirium and actually stated things about missing Lynn, Jessica dying, how he should have gotten kids with Lynn, how lonely he felt — at one point he event said that Marta looked beautiful under firelight, her eyes burned like ice on a stove — Marta had to blush. She had once envied her mother’s ember like eyes in firelight. No one has stated a compliment like that before to her with the same atmosphere as she had admired Rosemary in. Blake’s fever was at a high pitch around two in the morning when he started singing and talking about his dry spell with Lynn. That they had been busy getting jobs with tomorrownews.net and that she had been a bit angry as she wanted kids but Blake was not interested. Explaining that kids reminded him of his repressed memories about Jessica. Which he didn’t completely understand up till now. Though it’s not like she refused him many times; their connection was fractured due to work, stress and that dilemma. At times, Blake himself did not show any interest when Lynn was extremely interested.  Then he gave some accounts of his favourite lovemaking positions with Lynn which Marta had to admit, sounded interesting. Like Blake said he loved facing Lynn when they made love even if he loved humping doggy style. He just loved that more; to feel her pulse when she was moaning, kissing her throat, chasing the cries there. And then he cried a couple of minutes too saying how he missed all those things.

 

It was around 3:30 am that his fever went down and he was fast asleep. All this time, Marta had been giving him compresses, at one time she even brought a bucket and a small container and poured water on his head as he was babbling with tears and about sex and love and also about how he wanted to kill Loutermilch for manipulating him and Jessica all those years ago. Marta hadn’t really taken care of anyone since her mother got sick. She would do the same when Rosemary had high fevers. She didn’t mind helping Blake. She also caressed his wet hair, which she dried off with a clean towel, because she didn’t want to worsen his condition with a cold or anything else. When she felt, his fever go down and him finally stop talking and just go to sleep. She relaxed.

 

She decided then she needed a bath or shower of her own. She got the water into the bathtub. Put some three-quarter pants and a tank top on a chair and discarded the clothes she was wearing in a laundry basket made out of what seemed to be wicker. She slowly got into the bathtub. It was a bit small for her but she wanted to manage. Though she had to press her legs a bit nearer to her torso. This was fixed when she crossed her legs. And, submerged in the water.

 

She was relaxing in the warm water that she put in some bubbles in. It felt nice. She had asked Blake about it and he showed her how to use the bubble bath properly. It changed colours a bit and she looked at the blues and pinks and reds pretty happily. She seemed to fallen asleep for a few minutes. When she woke up she felt the tiles were whiter than they should be. Then she realised they weren’t tiles at all. She was in a white space and as she looked down she saw whiteness all over. The water in the tub looked buzzing, like a radio frequency gone wrong, or a television set on a channel that got empty frequency. Suddelu the water starting buzzing and melting the bathtub. Before she could even cry out she fell from the top and was falling for a while…

 

…until, she fell into water again.

 

She had to swim up.

 

And then she saw she was all alone. No sounds of birds, or animals or people.

 

Yet, she recognized where she was.

 

She was back on the lake in Temple Gate.  

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wonder what Marta will do now!


End file.
